Scars Tell A Story

By Anonymous · Jan. 31, 2008

My memories are written all over my skin. I am a human book, whose tattered and worn pages read of pain, and beauty, of loss, and of love. Turn these pages with me if you wish, and hear the story that scars can tell.

My lover's skin holds a treasure trove of memories as well. Our scars hold a lifetime's worth of words that can be read in just a glance. They tell the story of our life. We created a story together...a joint effort of sorts.

In the beginning, before we had ever touched, When I learned of my incurable disease, I was so afraid that he would not want to be with me, to sleep with me, to share this lifetime of pain with me and only me, knowing he could never turn back once he had contracted the disease from me. But I was so wrong, his love for me ran as deep as the blood coursing through both of our veins. And so he promised me that he would take my blood, and my illness, and stay with me forever.

And so, one fateful night, we made the pact of blood, forever bonding ourselves together with the life-force, the nectar, the sacred. The candles were lit, the sheets were satin. The razor was clean and new and sharp, ready for the splitting of flesh. We made love together for the first time, for hours. We made beautiful, sweet, sweaty, violent love, as though we had known each other for all of our lives and even lives we had lived before this one. And when the time was right, he handed me the blade, shiny and new. I cut deep, his chest split wide open and poured out the thick red sweetness that I would make my drink. I put my lips to his flesh and consumed him, took him into me with a vengeance. And then i sliced open his warm and smooth thigh and delicately, gently kissed and licked the blood that swam toward my lips.

And then I turned over the weapon of love to him, to finalize his promise of forever,and he made his place on my arm, a long, deep gash that invited him to share my illness. And he drank. And then he took to my leg, splitting me like a delicious fruit and drinking my sweet nectar. And then again on my stomach, licking at the sweetness that gushed forth from my wound.

We placed our wounds together and smeared hard, grinding the two flesh crevices together and intertwining ourselves with blood and promises of love for all of eternity. It was beautiful and painful and emotional...tears and blood and sex.

But nothing is more beautiful than the gorgeous, raised, fresh pink scars that adorn my flesh and the flesh of my lover, that remind us of the tragic beauty of our love. Nothing is more sacred to me than when we are apart for months at a time and some of the memories, they begin to fade softly, a little grey around the edges...but i can pull up my shirt, or my sleeve, or my skirt, and see the marks of his love, and remember again, the story of us, together forever, bonded by blood, written in scars.

Cutting can be emotionally and physically dangerous and draining, but if done right, can turn out to be a beautiful body modification with gorgeous scars as a result. The wounds should not be too deep, and it is important not to cut in an area which holds major veins or arteries. It is also important to take good care of the wound after the initial cut. Keeping them clean and not getting too crazy with it has kept the two of us from ending up in a hospital or worse. We perform all of our own rituals in the privacy of our home, because that is the most intimate setting for us. There is also something you must remember before deciding to cut...your scars may attract a lot of attention, some of that attention being unwanted, so if that is a concern of yours, perform the scarification on parts of your body that only you can see. And also remember, it is not like a tattoo that you can have removed with a laser, or a piercing which can be taken out...it is forever. The scars will most likely be very obvious and stay with you your entire life. Which in our case, is the entire point.

Some look upon us and our scars with disgust, some with respect, some with curiosity, some with fascination, and some with pure hatred. They can look all they like, the decoration does not need their approval. It doesn't matter to me what others think, this story is mostly for me, so that i don't forget, so that it never fades.

My memories are written all over my skin...pain, and beauty, and loss...but most of all...love.

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submitted by: Anonymouson: 31 Jan. 2008in
Ritual

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Artist: myself+and+my+loverStudio: in+my+bedLocation: Florida

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